Divorced, But Queen - Chapter 221: Chapter 221
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Dawson nodded. "Yeah, three months younger. Elena's been going crazy in her socialite circles, ranting about Orlando and Azalea. The gossip's everywhere—even I've heard it. Ran into him again at Amour Bistro at lunch. As soon as he said his name, I put two and two together."
A waiter escorted them to a top-tier suite. The VIP hadn't arrived yet; Dawson didn't dare enter, so they waited outside.
Vanessa, ever vigilant, texted the latest scoop to Aria.
Aria, reading the message, instantly thought of that rear-end collision. Was it really just coincidence? Her phone buzzed—another message.
[Aria, your paintings have turned up. I'm swamped this week. I'll be at the Fine Art Society judging entries in three days. If you're free, come by; otherwise, we'll set another time.]
Copying others' works was no big deal for her; she could finish a painting in no time.
But if those three forgeries ended up in the market, it could cause serious trouble for collectors.
She was planning to go to the Fine Art Society to meet Mono anyway—might as well grab the paintings while she was there.
[Okay,] Aria replied.
A stinging ache burned across her back. She headed for the shower, applied ointment, and had barely finished when her phone chimed—a special ringtone.
She answered. "It's me." White Fox's voice was hollow, stripped of its usual spark—so drained Aria could feel it.
"I know. What's wrong?"
A harsh pause. "The boss... told someone your real identity."
Aria's heart seized. "Who?"
"Someone looking for Sara. Apparently, it's a relative."
The name hit her like a blow to the chest—Sara. How long had it been since she'd last heard that name?
After a beat, White Fox added, "Just be careful, Aria. Watch everyone around you, understand?"
"I will," she said quietly.
When the call ended, she stood at her window, letting the cold wind lash her skin.
At the Fine Art Society, Westin was playing the tour guide, leading Mono through the galleries.
The black vortex painting still lingered in his mind, muting his appreciation of everything else.
"Mono, I remember you once said your apprentice wasn't a trained artist by trade. What does she actually do? How long did she study painting?"
Thinking of his wayward disciple, Mono's stern features softened, the hint of a smile on his lips. "To be precise, my apprentice only studied painting for two years."
"Two years?" Westin blurted out. "That's impossible!"
Mono snorted. "Why impossible? Sometimes, raw talent leaves hard work in the dust."
Aria had been found by Gael, a battered girl barely twelve years old, mute and motionless for three days.
At the time, Mono himself was suffering a creative drought.
Sitting with her, he'd drawn for three days straight, and from that vigil was born his now-famous Maiden in the Cage.
She'd watched him, then finally picked up a brush, scribbling nonsense.
Gael bought art supplies by the truckload just to keep up with her.
Not wanting to see her waste the materials, Mono began to teach her himself—two years of patient, relentless instruction.
When she copied his paintings, the technique was there but the soul was missing.
When she painted for herself, all the feeling was there—but none of the polish.
Her memory was frighteningly sharp; she learned anything quickly.
Beyond painting, she soaked up everything Gael could teach her about medicine and more.
Two years later, she left, and Mono knew better than to try to stop her.
At least she kept in touch, occasionally mailing him paintings—even if they were always forgeries.
Mono turned to Westin. "By the way, my apprentice is a woman."
A waiter escorted them to a top-tier suite. The VIP hadn't arrived yet; Dawson didn't dare enter, so they waited outside.
Vanessa, ever vigilant, texted the latest scoop to Aria.
Aria, reading the message, instantly thought of that rear-end collision. Was it really just coincidence? Her phone buzzed—another message.
[Aria, your paintings have turned up. I'm swamped this week. I'll be at the Fine Art Society judging entries in three days. If you're free, come by; otherwise, we'll set another time.]
Copying others' works was no big deal for her; she could finish a painting in no time.
But if those three forgeries ended up in the market, it could cause serious trouble for collectors.
She was planning to go to the Fine Art Society to meet Mono anyway—might as well grab the paintings while she was there.
[Okay,] Aria replied.
A stinging ache burned across her back. She headed for the shower, applied ointment, and had barely finished when her phone chimed—a special ringtone.
She answered. "It's me." White Fox's voice was hollow, stripped of its usual spark—so drained Aria could feel it.
"I know. What's wrong?"
A harsh pause. "The boss... told someone your real identity."
Aria's heart seized. "Who?"
"Someone looking for Sara. Apparently, it's a relative."
The name hit her like a blow to the chest—Sara. How long had it been since she'd last heard that name?
After a beat, White Fox added, "Just be careful, Aria. Watch everyone around you, understand?"
"I will," she said quietly.
When the call ended, she stood at her window, letting the cold wind lash her skin.
At the Fine Art Society, Westin was playing the tour guide, leading Mono through the galleries.
The black vortex painting still lingered in his mind, muting his appreciation of everything else.
"Mono, I remember you once said your apprentice wasn't a trained artist by trade. What does she actually do? How long did she study painting?"
Thinking of his wayward disciple, Mono's stern features softened, the hint of a smile on his lips. "To be precise, my apprentice only studied painting for two years."
"Two years?" Westin blurted out. "That's impossible!"
Mono snorted. "Why impossible? Sometimes, raw talent leaves hard work in the dust."
Aria had been found by Gael, a battered girl barely twelve years old, mute and motionless for three days.
At the time, Mono himself was suffering a creative drought.
Sitting with her, he'd drawn for three days straight, and from that vigil was born his now-famous Maiden in the Cage.
She'd watched him, then finally picked up a brush, scribbling nonsense.
Gael bought art supplies by the truckload just to keep up with her.
Not wanting to see her waste the materials, Mono began to teach her himself—two years of patient, relentless instruction.
When she copied his paintings, the technique was there but the soul was missing.
When she painted for herself, all the feeling was there—but none of the polish.
Her memory was frighteningly sharp; she learned anything quickly.
Beyond painting, she soaked up everything Gael could teach her about medicine and more.
Two years later, she left, and Mono knew better than to try to stop her.
At least she kept in touch, occasionally mailing him paintings—even if they were always forgeries.
Mono turned to Westin. "By the way, my apprentice is a woman."
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